Just Another Victim
by Kamikazee
Summary: Willow becomes just another victim. BtVSAngel


Just Another Victim  
  
Author: Kamikazee E-Mail: neo_kamikazee@hotmail.com Rating: PG-13 Warning: A little angsty, if at all Category: BtVS/Angel Spoilers: BtVS - Something Blue, Angel: Somnambulist Summary: Willow becomes just another victim. Characters/Pairing: Willow, Penn Archive: Quick Fics, Personal Space. Anyone else, please just e-mail me the URL, I'd be happy to let you have it. Author's Notes: I got this idea while re-watching Somnambulist. That and deciding that there's barely any Penn fanfiction out there. Response to the August theme for the quickie challenge: Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or storylines created for either Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. This is simply a non-profit piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended. TQC Pairing #: Not on there, could you add Willow/Penn to the list?  
  
~  
  
She thought it would make her forget. The countless bottles, the row of glasses; she figured it would push away all the pain and betrayal she felt. But, it didn't. She saw everything; the way their bodies tangled together, the blood splattered against the floor. She was spared not a single memory. Not one.  
  
She thought that she could escape, just for the weekend. That she could forget who she was, forget why she was there, drinking away her sorrows in a bar that couldn't be distinguished from countless others. She was wrong. She could never escape. It followed her like a black cloud.  
  
No matter where she went, she would see his face on strangers; see her face on unknown females. No matter how far she ran, she would always hear her friends, telling her to move on, that it wasn't the worst thing that could happen. They were wrong; this was the worst thing that could happen.  
  
They liked to think they knew what she was going through, but they had no idea. Her so called friends; none of them could know what it felt like. They couldn't, they didn't understand. If they understood, they wouldn't have told her to get over it. They wouldn't have looked at her like she was wrong for doing that spell. Like it was her fault. They wouldn't have abandoned her.  
  
"Well, what's a pretty young woman like you doing in a place like this?" The line was so horribly clichéd, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She looked up from the bottom of her glass and there he was. He didn't look any older than her, but looks can be deceiving; she should have known that. He was there, and he was smiling, and she couldn't bring herself to push him away.  
  
She was so tired. He was so nice. He listened without judging, without complaint. He did everything he needed to do to make her trust him. And she did. She knew she shouldn't, but she did. Maybe she was just looking for someone, anyone, to believe, and he was just the first one to come along. Maybe she knew what would happen, but she didn't care. Whatever it was, she trusted him.  
  
When it came time to leave, when she had no more money to spend, and nowhere else to spend it, he was still there. Still smiling, still leading her. She was lost, but he promised he'd show her the way. He made her forget, forget whatever it was that had brought her there in the first place.  
  
She thought that maybe he could help her. Maybe he could make everything right. Make her feel like it wasn't her fault, like he hadn't left her because she wasn't enough. Maybe he could take away the pain that was even now eating away at everything that she was.  
  
He lead, she followed. She thought she knew what he wanted, but she had no idea. She was too far-gone, and he was to well versed in this game. She never stood a chance. He chose his victims carefully, and he had chosen her the moment he saw her. She was alone, and she was hurt; easy picking. She was nothing to him; all she was useful for was the mocking of the god that had abandoned him. He was above her.  
  
The lies slipped easily from his tongue. The comforting words, the soothing voice, the helpful hands. If anyone had looked, all they would have seen was a caring man. But, he wasn't a caring man; he wasn't a man at all. He was better than a man, and she was just another way to prove it.  
  
He took her by the hand and told her everything would be fine, that he would make things better. He led her to an alley, told her he was going to show her something amazing. He held her easily against the wall; she couldn't have fought even if she knew what was going on. She didn't even feel it as he traced the knife-tipped finger across her cheek; she was already numb.  
  
The real face that showed his true nature emerged and he buried the ridges into the softness of her neck. His teeth scraped beneath the surface of her skin, forming two neat puncture wounds. As her life was drained out of her, she felt nothing, because there was little left inside of her.  
  
Her lifeless body was dropped to the ground. Blank eyes stared upwards at him, empty and emotionless. He looked down at her and felt only satisfaction at a job well done. There was no guilt, there was no remorse, there was only fulfilment and hunger; the burning hunger that filled him at all times. She hadn't been chosen because of the slayer, she hadn't been chosen because of her powers; she had just been there.  
  
An innocent civilian found Willow Rosenberg's body the following morning. The police scoured the scene and the body, but found nothing new. She was just like all the others; drained dry of her blood, with a catholic cross carved into her left cheek. It was kind of ironic; she wasn't even catholic.  
  
She was just another victim. 


End file.
